A former neighbor from a former life and a long overdue apology.

It was a long time ago, when I was a stay-at-home new mother with a tiny baby.  My husband was at work all day and sometimes into the night, crafting his Hollywood career.  I had given up working in television production where I’d been an executive with non-stop-stimuli and head-crushing pressure.  I wasn’t used to the much slower homemaker life.   My neighbor Harriet noticed my ennui and took me under her caftan-clad wing.  She cooed at Jamie, chatted amiably in her flowing paisley “housecoat” as I stood in front with the stroller, grateful for the company after whiling away a long day alone.  We did Pico Boulevard, where she taught me how to buy Kosher foods with the “U” on the label when I thought for a minute I might keep a Kosher kitchen. (That idea quickly faded when I figured out how hard it was.)  She said ‘jump’, I said ‘how high’.

I was a willing participant in her schemes, Ethel to her Lucy.  (She had a powerful head of red hair).  Harriet was full of ideas.  Lively.  Fun.  We tried new things together.  It alleviated my boredom and gave me a few laughs.  Once she drafted me into a fashion show with all Orthodox women and I donned a head-covering hat for the runway, an impostor in a disguise, trying to fit in but knowing it was never to be my world.  Cajoled people into donating money for underwear for Ethiopian Jews who came to the U.S. without proper undergarments.  Whatever Harriet wanted, I tried.

Harriet made me feel welcome at her holiday table, and so did her husband Leon.  When my ex-husband told me Leon had died, I felt the need to reach out.  I hadn’t had the grace when I left the marriage to maintain our relationship, and I was too ashamed to tell her how I had failed at my  marriage, my Kosher home, my dreams of wholeness.  I moved on, although I thought of her often especially when I drove past our old street.

Sometimes a letter can open a door again — even when it’s been closed for 20 years.  I hope Harriet forgives me now for leaving our friendship behind when I left the neighborhood.  I didn’t know how to manage so I did nothing.  I’m sorry, Harriet.  And I’m sorry for your loss.